


More Than Skin Deep

by GythaOgg



Series: Cornucopia, SC [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Sam Winchester does yoga, Tattoo Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Tattoo Artist Charlie Bradbury, Tattooed Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 08:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GythaOgg/pseuds/GythaOgg
Summary: Dean makes some new friends! Dean finally meets Castiel and Charlie! Dean gets a new tattoo! The plot thickens. (You should probably read Welcome to Cornucopia before you read this one.)





	More Than Skin Deep

                Things were good. Sam joined the gym and started taking yoga classes, which Dean ribbed him about constantly. (“ _You’re so predictable, Sammy_.”) Dean was seriously considering joining the gym himself, after a few weeks, because his belly was getting softer and softer, and he was damn well not going to take up jogging or yoga! And hey, if training with Cole was part of the deal at Bygones Fitness, then all the better, right? Dean had met several people in his first few weeks here, and though that number included a few very attractive women, they all seemed a little too young for him. In Cornucopia, he knew that looks could be deceiving, but he hadn’t gotten to know any women well enough to ask personal questions, like “what are you?” or “how old are you?”. Besides, now that he wasn’t worried about being in the closet, Dean kind of felt like he was making up for lost time. His eyes were drawn to men more often than women these days, and he’d started taking much more thorough showers, lately. Not that he specifically planned on hooking up with anyone, but you know, just in case.

                Sam and Jess were still flirting, and Sam had made friends at work and at the gym. Max had invited both the Winchesters out for drinks one night, and taken them to a bar called the Grapes of Wrath, owned by the actual god Dionysus, of all people! Of course, he went by Dio Athiri nowadays, and it turned out there were several other gods living in Cornucopia. Apparently, Aphrodite ( _Michaela Kallos_ ) owned the local day spa, the Chief of Police was a goddess of law, Lucy Juno ( _the local Ob/Gyn_ ) was the Roman goddess of childbirth, and Keri Aelwyd ( _Cerridwen_ ) was a kitchen goddess. Keri was also Dean’s hands-down favorite. She owned the Irish pub ( _Heart O’ the Home_ ), four blocks from Sam and Dean’s house, and they met her their first weekend in town, while looking for a nearby spot to have dinner. If Dean had taken to any woman in town so far, it was Keri, though he was probably more in love with her cooking than anything else. She was sweet and comfortable, with long brown hair that was starting to gray, and golden brown eyes. Keri was very reassuring and motherly, and she always smelled like freshly baked cookies.

                Dean had made a couple of friends of his own, too. The night they went out with Max, they met Lily: a purple-haired, dark-skinned fairy with bright blue eyes and some of the best weed Dean had ever smoked. They’d hung out a few times since then, and Dean met Gwynn, Aiden, and Pamela through her. Gwynn was a selkie, who was a very tomboyish, mom-type. She lived off the coast with her husband and three kids, but they all spent quite a bit of time in town. Her 13 year old was in school here, and the youngest two were in day care a couple of times a week, just for the socialization. Gwynn told Dean stories about the cute things her kids got up to, and it reminded him how much he liked kids. He wondered if he’d ever have kids of his own, now that he’s no longer hunting.

                Aiden was a wood sprite and a bit of a hippie ( _of course_ ), but he loved Pink Floyd and the Doors, so he and Dean bonded over a love of classic music and a joint, not five minutes after they met at Lily’s. Turned out that Aiden was also a good cook, so they’d spent a few hours trading recipes and favorite meals since then, and they got along great. Aiden was beautiful, of course, being a sprite. He was a few inches shorter than Dean, lithe but strong, nut brown skin, curly blonde hair, leaf-green eyes, and an effortless grace that made him very casually sexy. He also looked about 21, and though Dean knew he was probably closer to 201, he kept his eyes to himself and didn’t flirt with Aiden at all. Aiden was very open about being pansexual, but he didn’t flirt with Dean either, so apparently they were both fine with being ‘just friends’. Dean secretly considered if he was beginning to build an immunity to the unusually high standard of beauty that seemed so common in this town. It made sense, in a community full of fae, gods, angels, and demons, but it was still weird.

                Pamela was a human, but a psychic, who worked as the admitting nurse at the local medical center. She was snarky, cynical, and had a caustic sarcasm that Dean immediately took a liking to. Pretty, in a biker-chick sort of way, with long brown hair, flinty gray eyes, and a perpetual smirk. Pam was only a few years older than him, but though they did some playful flirting, there was no real physical attraction between the two. Dean was pretty sure it was because they were so similar.

                One evening, Dean was hanging out at Aiden’s house, eating some spicy pasta concoction that Aiden invented on the spot, after smoking a joint. Dean was telling a story about some of the stuff he’d found in the Bunker’s storage rooms, and Aiden laughed so hard that he dropped a forkful of pasta on his shirt. When Aiden whipped it off to soak out the stain, Dean saw the elaborate tree of life tattoo that covered his entire back. “Holy shit, that’s one hell of a back piece, man!” he exclaimed, and Aiden proudly launched into an explanation of the meaning behind the piece, as well as who did the work. It was some guy named Castiel Walker, at the tattoo shop Dean had spotted when he first moved in. Metamorphosis, it was called, and Aiden said they had three good artists there: Castiel, Meg, and Charlie, as well as Abby, their piercer. Dean mentioned that he’d been considering some new ink, and they spent the next couple of hours discussing what designs they wanted where. Dean showed Aiden the work he already had: the anti-possession pentacle on his chest, the DW & SW on his right deltoid, and the two license plates on either hip ( _KAZ 2Y5 – Kansas, and CNK 80Q3 – Ohio_ ). Aiden laughed at those. “Aww, from your first two cars?” he asked. “From my only car, thank you! Same one I drive now: 67 Chevy Impala. She’s my Baby.” He paused and said, almost to himself, “Though, now that she’s got South Carolina tags, I suppose I’ll have to put a new one on my hide, somewhere”.

                A few days after the conversation with Aiden, Dean found himself with nothing to do on a Saturday. Sam was working, and Dean had already cleaned their little house from top to bottom, so now he was looking for something to do. He called Aiden, but got his voicemail. “Well,” he finally decided, “looks like today’s the day I check out that tattoo shop”. On the off chance that he could actually get a walk-in appointment, Dean looted the cash box hidden in his bedroom wall. He snapped a quick picture of Baby’s new license plate, and climbed in, heading downtown.

                Dean parked in an empty spot a few doors down from Metamorphosis Ink, and paused outside, looking in the window. There was a redheaded woman, covered in tattoos, drawing at a drafting table. As he watched, another young woman emerged from behind a curtained divider, bearing an obviously fresh tattoo on her forearm. She was tiny, maybe 5’ tall, with a luminous tan and rose-gold hair, cut into an angled bob. Dean noticed she was wearing nurse’s scrubs and pink Crocs. He tried to make out the tattoo on her arm, but he was immediately distracted by the man walking up alongside the pink-haired chick. He was clearly the artist who’d just done the tattoo, ink up and down both arms, dressed in worn jeans and a tight white V-neck t-shirt, cut just low enough to show off more ink across his chest and collar bone. His neck was bent, leaning down to the woman, who must have been a full foot shorter than him, so all Dean could really see of him was his fluffy, messy, dark hair. As the guy walked the pink-haired customer up to the counter to ring her up, Dean shook himself, finally taking the last few steps to the door. He held the door for the girl, who grinned and nodded at him, before heading down the street, almost bouncing in her Crocs. Dean wondered if it was her first tattoo; that would explain why she seemed so giddy. He belatedly realized he hadn’t even blinked at the pink hair, or the slightly unnatural glow to the girl’s tan skin. Hadn’t even paused to wonder if she was human or not. “Huh,” he thought, “look at me, adjusting! So there, Sammy”.

                Smirking to himself, Dean strolled over to the front counter, where the tattoo artist was still standing, filing papers. After a second, he slid the file drawer closed, looked up at Dean . . . and froze. Dean would have thought this odd, except that he was more or less paralyzed too. This tattoo guy was, to put it bluntly, hot! Hotter than your average inked up guy. Hotter than your average Cornucopian, in fact. Below that fluffy, messy hair were the darkest blue eyes Dean had ever seen, high cheekbones, and a strong, stubbly jawline. Dean’s eyes trailed a little further down, and he could see that the tattoos below his collar bone were an elaborate hanging garden, with blue skies and cirrus clouds creeping up over his shoulders. The man suddenly cleared his throat, and the noise startled Dean out of his thoughts. He snapped his eyes back up to the guy’s face, embarrassed, and he slapped a grin on. “Uhh, hi. Yeah. I’m ahh, I’m Dean. Winchester. I’m new.” he stammered, extending his hand. The tattoo artist squinted at him for a moment, tilting his head, but then straightened up, a tiny smile appearing on his face, as he accepted Dean’s handshake. “Hello Dean, I’m Castiel. What can I do for you?” he asked, and Dean’s brain short-circuited for a second, at his deep, dark, gravelly voice. Taking a deep breath, Dean explained that he’d seen Castiel’s work on Aiden and was hoping he might have an open appointment sometime soon. Cas nodded, inviting Dean to sit on the overstuffed couch, to discuss potential designs.

                Dean showed Cas his existing tattoos, and the photo of Baby’s new license plate ( _OUT 019_ ). He explained that he was also looking to get a heart burned to ashes on his chest, with 11/2/83 above it, as well as another date on his left forearm, maybe in Roman numerals. “What date?” Castiel asked, less enthusiastic than he had been a moment earlier. “September 18, 2008”. Dean had almost forgotten about the redhead sketching away in the corner, but when he rattled off the date, she spit out, “No way!” before slapping a hand over her mouth. Dean and Cas both turned to stare at her ( _well, Cas’s was more of a glare, actually_ ) and she squeaked out a hasty apology, waving them off. “Sorry! Don’t mind me! Carry on!”

                Castiel stared a moment longer, then returned his gaze to Dean, his left hand drifting to his own belly.  “May I ask what the dates mean? You don’t have to tell me, of course, but it could improve the design.” Dean grimaced. “Yeah, that’s fine. Umm, 11/2/83 is the night my mom died in a house fire.” Dean paused, realizing he’s never actually said this out loud to anyone. “The 2008 one is the day I came back from Hell. Umm, literally.” There was a clattering, as the redhead dropped her pencil, then a series of scraping noises as she scooted her chair back to pick it up, resolutely not looking at Cas or Dean. Cas nodded again, as if that wasn’t an incredibly bizarre confession. And shit, maybe it wasn’t, here in Cornucopia. The silence started to stretch out, and Dean scrambled to fill it. “That was, uhh, the first time I came back from the dead. I actually want a piece on the inside of my forearm too … tally marks, I think. 116 of ‘em; one for each time I’ve died.” Cas did look a little shaken at that. Alarmed, even. “One hundred and sixteen times?! And you’re human?” he gaped. Dean chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a long story. But yes, still human. Or human again. Whatever – totally human.” He paused, blushing, and asked in a much quieter voice, “Umm, do you mind if I ask? Are you . . . ?” Cas’s eyes got a little sad, just before he looked down. “I was an angel, but I fell some time ago. I’m still angelic, but I lost my wings, and was forced to leave Heaven. Eventually, I found my way here, and now I’m a tattoo artist.” He seemed to brighten a bit by the end, and smiled, though it looked a little forced, and Dean was struck with the sudden urge to hug him. He didn’t ( _that would be weird_ ), but he really wanted to. “I’m so sorry, Cas.” He offered. Castiel shrugged, muttered a thank you, and then clapped his hands together, pushing on to the next task at hand.

                “OK, well what piece do you want to get first? I have a couple of hours free right now, if you like.” Dean took a moment to consider, then decided, “Let’s start with the license plate. Leave the heavy stuff for later.” Cas nodded again, grabbed a sketch book, and laid Dean’s phone on the couch next to him. Ten minutes later, he had a completed drawing and a stencil, and Dean followed him back to his station, behind the curtain wall. As Cas set up his station and Dean looked at the photos on the walls, Cas glanced over his shoulder and absently said, “OK, pull your pants down”. Dean being Dean, he smirked and opened his mouth to make a smart-ass comment, but was interrupted by a sharp wolf-whistle from the front of the shop. Cas growled low in his throat and shouted, “Shut up, Charlie!” before returning his eyes to Dean. “I assume you want this on your hip, with the others, but where, exactly?” he asked. “Oh yeah, maybe a little further back on the left side. Like about here?” He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them halfway down the swell of his ass, cocking his left hip towards Castiel, but he got only a professional, perfunctory nod.

                There was an electronic chirp up front, and the distinctive click of an annoyed tongue, before they heard feet approaching. Just outside the curtain, the redhead ( _Charlie, apparently_ ) paused, asking for “permission to come aboard”. Cas looked at Dean, who shrugged one shoulder, careful not to move the left side of his body, as Cas smoothed the stencil carefully over his skin. Dean’s shirt was on the chair and his pants were shoved down, a paper towel tucked into them, but Dean had never been shy about his body, so he called out, “Permission granted!”.

                Charlie darted in through the curtain and looked Dean up and down, but then waved one hand at him, dismissively. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna ogle you. I bat for the other team.” Then she turned to Castiel. “So, Emma just cancelled on me. You got any appointments you want me to take?” Cas finished peeling the stencil off Dean’s hip and pursed his lips, staring into space for a moment. “I have a consult with Ryan Farnes in 2 hours, if you want that. No idea what he wants for a design. ‘Something wrapping around his calf’ was all he gave me”, Cas said, complete with air quotes. Dean huffed a laugh at that, attracting their attention. “I’ve had that. Where you don’t know what you want, but you just feel like there’s supposed to be a tattoo in that spot? I’ve always felt like that about my left shoulder” he said, as he rubbed his right hand across his deltoid. “But I’ve never been able to decide on a design. Nothing ever felt quite right.” Cas stared at Dean’s arm for an uncomfortably long time, before drawing a deep breath and mumbling, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually”, as he proceeded to manhandle Dean into position on the tattoo chair.

                Charlie hopped up on a counter a few feet away, and now Dean was able to get a good look at several of her tattoos. She was wearing a sleeveless turtleneck and low-slung cargo pants, so Dean could see quite a bit of inky skin. He was impressed. Some of the tattoos were self-explanatory, like the rainbow Apple logo on her right deltoid, or the rainbow Stormtrooper helmet on her left tricep, with a galaxy in the background. She had Yoda’s face on her left bicep, with the words, “Do or do not, there is no try” underneath, and the Tolkein quote, “Not all those who wander are lost” scrawled across her left forearm. There were dolphins on her right bicep, with “So long and thanks for all the fish!” woven around them, but Dean had no idea what that meant. She also had rows of letters and corresponding numbers covering her right forearm, which Dean is totally baffled by. He thinks some of the letters spell out “WIS”, but that’s not a word.

                “Hey, uh, Charlie? That’s some pretty awesome work. Can I ask what it means? I mean, I get a lot of the nerd references, but like, the dolphins? And the numbers?” Dean asked, feeling a bit self-conscious. What if she was a were-dolphin or something, and he was being rude by asking? Charlie immediately perked up, though, holding her right arm out. “Oh, sure thing! The dolphins are from a Douglas Adams book.” Her eyes bugged out at Dean’s blank expression. “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy?” Dean shook his head, prompting an exasperated sigh from Charlie. “Dude, you have some homework to do.” She rotated her arm and gestured to the numbers on the inside of her forearm, and now Dean could also see PlayStation buttons tattooed on the back of her left hand. He laughs, tilting his chin towards her hand. “I like the PlayStation hand; that’s cute.” Charlie grinned at him, as Cas stretched the skin on Dean’s hip and grumbled, “OK, hold still”. “Yes, sir” Dean replied, pressing his lips together and winking at Charlie. Cas got to work, and Charlie spoke louder, to be heard over the buzz of the tattoo machine.

                “These are my D&D stats. 8 Strength, 16 Dexterity, 12 Constitution, 19 Intelligence, 17 Wisdom, and 16 Charisma” she boasted, pointing at each row in turn. The letters (STR / DEX / CON / INT / WIS / CHA) made more sense, now that Dean knew they were abbreviations. “For your Dungeons & Dragons character?” he asked. That seemed like a lot of dedication to one character, but who was he to judge? He was, after all, getting a third license plate etched into his skin.

                “Nope”, Charlie replied, popping the P. “MY actual stats. Me. Charlie.” Dean raised his eyebrows. He’s only seen D&D played twice, back when Sam used to play in 9th grade, but he’s pretty sure character stats max out at 20. “You have a 19 Intelligence, huh? You some kind of genius?” he scoffed. Charlie folded her pale arms in front of her chest. “Actually, yes.” Cas chuckled from behind Dean, and said, “Charlie is a computer hacker. She’s also very insightful.” Charlie leaned forward to interrupt. “And bendy. Don’t forget bendy.” Dean could just see Cas nodding in his peripheral vision. “Yes, bendy as well. She’s been practicing yoga.”

                They chatted amiably the whole time Cas was working on Dean’s tattoo, and the time flew by. Cas commented here and there, but mostly it was just Dean and Charlie talking about all kinds of things: favorite video games (Mario Kart, Zelda, Pillars of Eternity, Red Dead Redemption), favorite authors (Vonnegut, Adams, Tolkein, Rowling), favorite movies (Star Wars, LOTR, Tron, Temple of Doom, Mad Max - Fury Road), favorite foods (pie, burgers, stuffed chicken, beef wellington). When Dean admitted he didn’t really know what Beef Wellington was, Charlie was horrified. “Oh no. This is unacceptable. Filet mignon covered in pâté and mashed mushrooms, wrapped in puff pastry, with Madeira sauce on top?! It is the Queen of all steak dishes, and Heart O’The Home makes the most perfect Wellington anyone has ever Wellington’d! I’ll find out when Keri’s gonna put it back on the menu, and then you and I have a date, mister.” She announced this as if it were a done deal, like they’d known each other for years and this was perfectly normal. “Umm, OK? I’m Dean, by the way?” Dean stammered out. Cas chuckled again, and stopped the machine to wipe down the tattoo. “Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury. Apparently she’s claimed you as her newest friend. Don’t fight it; it’s a thing she does.” Dean looked back up at Charlie to see her grinning like the Cheshire cat, and he felt a bit lost for a second, like he’s missed an important part of their conversation. But then Cas sprayed his hip and wiped gently over the tender skin again, and Dean hissed. “All done. What do you think?” Castiel asked, handing Dean a mirror. Dean squirmed a bit, trying to get the right angle, but when he got the whole tag in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile. It was perfect; almost 3D. Certainly better work than the first two plates. “Damn Cas, that’s awesome. Thank you.”

                Dean climbed, awkwardly, out of the chair, stretching and popping his back. He stood in front of the long mirror on the wall, admiring his new ink, and Charlie beside him, nodding her head and humming. “Not bad, Walker” she said, reaching over to ruffle Castiel’s hair. Cas just scowled and stuck his tongue out at her, before peeling off his gloves and walking Dean up front. Dean paid for his tattoo, leaving Cas a good tip, and they discussed the next possible design. While Dean was unsure which piece to move on to next, Cas pushed for the heart design, and Dean conceded. They decided it should go on Dean’s right pectoral, and that it would be a stylized heart, rather than an anatomical one. Dean booked an appointment for three weeks out, and traded phone numbers with Charlie before he left. Just as he was turning towards the door, Charlie jumped up and hugged him, unexpectedly. Dean wrapped one arm around her, out of reflex, and gave Cas a look over her head. Cas smirked at him and shrugged, offering no explanation whatsoever, but Charlie backed off after a few seconds, and let him leave in peace.

                Dean just couldn’t quite get over how . . . welcoming everyone seemed to be here. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there was nothing. Even Crowley had been entirely OK. Snarky, but OK. Now he had an instant bestie in Charlie, apparently. Which, alright, maybe a little weird. He’d never been, well, Friends with a chick before. But then again, Charlie being gay made that whole dynamic easier to adjust to, since sex would always be off the table. And then there was Castiel. Was Cas a friend? Could he be more than a friend? The way the guy stared at him, Dean was pretty sure there was something there. There was definitely something there on Dean’s side, at least. There were plenty of hot guys in this town, but it was more than that with Cas. Dean had felt an immediate connection to him that he couldn’t explain, and he was almost positive that Cas had felt it too. Intrigued, Dean realized that this was the most interest he’d had in another person – male or female – in years. “Well,” he said to himself, starting the Impala and pulling away from the curb, “I said this was going to be a new start, right?”

               

               

               

 


End file.
